I really struggled to see the positives in E's appointment at GOSH. Blinded by exhaustion, confused by my feelings about the consultant's plan and having lost hope, I just wanted to give up and run away. I felt totally trapped on the hamster wheel of life with a child with undiagnosed Special Educational Needs.
In the last six months, running has eased the feelings of stress and my own anxiety. I (obviously) haven't left my heart in San Fransico as the title suggests, but I do seem to have left my mojo in London.
The need to run has gone. It is just another chore to add to the 'to do' list. I've had enough of trying, enough of feeling like I am working so hard all of the time and going absolutely nowhere. I can't fight any more. I can't be the person leading E's healthcare; I don't possess the knowledge or resources to do so and I feel like I am failing her. I feel like I have had to fight for five long years and now I want to stop. More time waiting for something to happen is just more time where she is falling further behind her peers, more anxiety builds, and her behaviour at home worsens.
I can't fix this.
Conversations with my closest family and friends verified my disappointment and confusion. They shared their confidence in me, in my ability to carry on and to hold my hand through the toughest times. I don't share their confidence in me.
The Run Mummy Run group has provided me access to other parents who have found themselves in the same situation. I posted there, explaining I'm left feeling like I've either got to give up and accept that our situation is never going to get any better, or fight even harder for her. I feel totally defeated so option one seems the most likely... I'll never give up on my girl, and will always do my best for her, but that isn't being out, running and training for distances. I just need to be her mummy and nothing else. I can't do this any more. The following replies were full of support and kindness once again, and other parents offering their stories to comfort and advise. It makes me realise that our situation could be far worse, and although tough at times I have to be grateful for all of the good health E has, and the incredible strength and perseverance she shows.
I expected more from GOSH than they would ever be able to provide. After all, they are just another NHS Trust facing the daily challenges that every other hospital faces. Budgets, guidelines, waiting lists, boxes to tick... it goes on and on. Each and every child is unique, amazing and precious to those who love them and simply want the best possible for them. The bar set for the consultant yesterday was probably unrealistic.
Trying hard to look for the positives, we set off today to an activity which is the result of another set of hard work. Two weeks ago, the eldest girls started Equine Assisted Learning with Eloise. I spent a lot of time with horses as a child, and hold vivid memories of that time. Whenever I am cuddled into the muzzle of a horse, I feel a lovely sense of calm and warmth and I was keen to share this with the girls. Watching the girls grooming, playing and just being with the ponies gave me chance to stand back and reflect. Watching E's face filled with light and happiness as she connected with her chosen pony showed me her developing confidence and ability to learn. Watching my eldest girls learning, but also modelling confident behaviour for E to thrive from opened my eyes again to be able to see beyond special needs. Just special girls. The lady who leads saw my tiredness, and asked what I needed most for E. The answer is simple really, and I know that if I could remove E's anxiety her life would be better. I watched today to see the stress of the week leaving E as she breathed in time with her pony. The connection between them was visible as they learned to trust one another to be kind and gentle.
Now it is my turn to trust, to calm myself and to settle. The fight may not be the same, it may change, and I will allow myself to be led by my love for E, for all of my girls. And if all else fails, I will just love them some more.
Saturday 20 September 2014
GOSH appointment and the crash down to earth
We were in eager anticipation of E's appointment at Great Ormond Street. I had read a lot about the Consultant we were seeing, and his reputation went before him. We tried hard to not raise our expectations too high, but with many factors influencing us it was inevitable that we were hoping for the best, and then some.
Great Ormond Street is tucked away in Central London. It would be fairly easy to get there via underground, but as we had a buggy and a two year old with us, we opted for walking there as neither myself or Paul were daunted by the distance to walk. What the route maps don't show, however, are the incredible volumes of people and traffic that you encounter. Walking from Victoria should have been straight forward, but trying to get past Buckingham Palace at the same time as the Changing of the Guard is near impossible. London changes when you are there for a reason other than sightseeing. Tourists are a nuisance, blocking the path, travelling blinkered-like in huge walking buses, following their leader holding aloft some token umbrella, clipboard or other whack-you-in-the-eye object. Footpaths blocked by maintenance, PCSOs or Soldiers in their normally attention-capturing red uniforms, all mean the London icons lose their novelty and become an obstruction.
By the time we arrived at our destination, we were a bit of a hot, sweaty, stressed couple. Thank goodness for our trusty Phil&Teds double buggy which was strong enough to hold E in the second seat and ensured she had a smooth, effortless journey with her two year old sister.
I'm not sure what I had expected from the main entrance of GOSH, the pictures online misleading my imagination and perhaps expecting something more than it actually is. The waiting area for audiology and several other departments was far from 'Great', although the addition of Playworkers ensured the limited facilities were child focussed and kept orderly. As with any waiting area, the adults were pacing but trying to look like they weren't counting every passing minute beyond their given appointment time, in an increasingly people-filled, hot area.
E was called through for her appointment, but obviously this coincided with her suddenly and desperately needing the toilet, and B needing a dirty nappy changing. Cue much shooing and 'hurry up'-ing of children and their bodily functions!
The first Audiologist we saw was lovely, and my nerves settled with her friendly tone, and her welcome. She performed a hearing test and quickly revealed that E has glue ear and reduced hearing. This didn't come as much of a shock as we are aware of E's intermittent hearing loss, despite locally recorded hearing tests telling us that her hearing is normal. E coped well with the hearing tests, although not quite understanding the button-push system where she is used to putting the little men in their boat.
Next came a Speech Audiogram; a hearing test which requires the listener to repeat a simple word which is spoken over background noise. E's body language was heartbreaking, her eyes pleading with me to help, and her back stiffening in the chair. I could see the anxiety within her, which sent the maternal instinct to rescue her rushing through me and yet I heard my head telling me to keep her there. Holding her hand, stroking her leg and reassuring her in the only way I know - a loving kiss and words that she understands - enabled her to complete the assessment.
We returned to the waiting room, which had somehow filled up even more, to await being called through by the consultant.
We waited.
And we waited.
And we waited some more.
E was kept busy by gluing, pens and one of the playworkers. B was beginning to become restless, already having missed her daytime nap, getting hotter and more grumpy having exhausted the three toy stations provided. It was hard not to draw comparison between our current environment, the Child Development Centre at our local hospital and at The Evelina at St Thomas'. I knew which I preferred, and it wasn't the one I was feeling trapped in! Beginning to think we had been forgotten, we waited for the queue at the reception desk to clear to enquire about our wait. Just as Paul approached the desk, E's name was called.
We moved into the consultant's office. My immediate reaction was to the large, noisy air conditioning unit in the corner of the room. It struck me as ironic that in an audiology department, my hearing was compromised not because of a health problem, but by the environment I was in. The conversation with the consultant was hindered by the noise, and a very unhappy B. We tried hard to give an accurate, chronological history, half expecting him to know at least some of E's history as provided by two consultants locally. Our hearts sank as it became apparent that E's glue ear was going to make any further assessments difficult and that what laid ahead of us was going to be more fighting for cohesive, well planned care. The consultant explained that there was to be no MRI scan and he wanted to carry out full APD (Auditory Processing Disorder) testing with E which would happen in his clinic at GOSH, but that this couldn't happen while E has glue ear, that we needed to liaise with local services to monitor her hearing. I wanted to scream that I have been trying to get our local teams to communicate with me for the last five years and it hadn't really proved successful. That's why I am sat in your clinic now, because no-one will listen. No-one will help. And now it felt like the one person who had been put on a pedestal, the go-to man who will sort everything out was making a total U-turn on the care he had previously planned and I really didn't get why. He left the room to photocopy some of the documents I had with me, and my eyes locked with Paul's seeking reassurance that I was misinterpreting this. Our shared aghast look needed no words. As the consultant returned, Paul asked him to confirm his plan. No MRI, but on the (lengthy) waiting list for APD assessment which can only happen if, by pure luck, E doesn't have glue ear at the time. Correct. We asked about grommets, would these help? Does she need them? It would make no difference as the current NICE Guidelines would prevent her from having this treatment. Can we see a Paediatrican to coordinate this care, to look at all aspects of her development and potential cardiac problems? Yes, but your GP will need to make a referral. There are no general Paeds at GOSH so this can't happen there. You need to liaise with local services, I will write to your Audiology department and see you again if or when E doesn't have glue ear.
We left the appointment exhausted and confused. The MRI, although daunting to have done with a general anaesthetic, had felt like an opportunity to seek physical cause and therefore answers. We know there is a problem in E's brain stem, but not really what or why. If our local hospital had referred her properly, it would be over and done with by now. Would we have put her through that unnecessarily? Had we made the wrong decision to come to GOSH? What lay ahead of us to try and clear glue ear with no intervention? After seeing Eloise's anxiety to a simple speech audiogram, did we really want to put her through the battery of tests needed to diagnose APD?
With heavy hearts, we left GOSH to fight the traffic, congestion and tutting commuters to find our way to the solace of home.
Great Ormond Street is tucked away in Central London. It would be fairly easy to get there via underground, but as we had a buggy and a two year old with us, we opted for walking there as neither myself or Paul were daunted by the distance to walk. What the route maps don't show, however, are the incredible volumes of people and traffic that you encounter. Walking from Victoria should have been straight forward, but trying to get past Buckingham Palace at the same time as the Changing of the Guard is near impossible. London changes when you are there for a reason other than sightseeing. Tourists are a nuisance, blocking the path, travelling blinkered-like in huge walking buses, following their leader holding aloft some token umbrella, clipboard or other whack-you-in-the-eye object. Footpaths blocked by maintenance, PCSOs or Soldiers in their normally attention-capturing red uniforms, all mean the London icons lose their novelty and become an obstruction.
By the time we arrived at our destination, we were a bit of a hot, sweaty, stressed couple. Thank goodness for our trusty Phil&Teds double buggy which was strong enough to hold E in the second seat and ensured she had a smooth, effortless journey with her two year old sister.
I'm not sure what I had expected from the main entrance of GOSH, the pictures online misleading my imagination and perhaps expecting something more than it actually is. The waiting area for audiology and several other departments was far from 'Great', although the addition of Playworkers ensured the limited facilities were child focussed and kept orderly. As with any waiting area, the adults were pacing but trying to look like they weren't counting every passing minute beyond their given appointment time, in an increasingly people-filled, hot area.
E was called through for her appointment, but obviously this coincided with her suddenly and desperately needing the toilet, and B needing a dirty nappy changing. Cue much shooing and 'hurry up'-ing of children and their bodily functions!
The first Audiologist we saw was lovely, and my nerves settled with her friendly tone, and her welcome. She performed a hearing test and quickly revealed that E has glue ear and reduced hearing. This didn't come as much of a shock as we are aware of E's intermittent hearing loss, despite locally recorded hearing tests telling us that her hearing is normal. E coped well with the hearing tests, although not quite understanding the button-push system where she is used to putting the little men in their boat.
Next came a Speech Audiogram; a hearing test which requires the listener to repeat a simple word which is spoken over background noise. E's body language was heartbreaking, her eyes pleading with me to help, and her back stiffening in the chair. I could see the anxiety within her, which sent the maternal instinct to rescue her rushing through me and yet I heard my head telling me to keep her there. Holding her hand, stroking her leg and reassuring her in the only way I know - a loving kiss and words that she understands - enabled her to complete the assessment.
We returned to the waiting room, which had somehow filled up even more, to await being called through by the consultant.
We waited.
And we waited.
And we waited some more.
E was kept busy by gluing, pens and one of the playworkers. B was beginning to become restless, already having missed her daytime nap, getting hotter and more grumpy having exhausted the three toy stations provided. It was hard not to draw comparison between our current environment, the Child Development Centre at our local hospital and at The Evelina at St Thomas'. I knew which I preferred, and it wasn't the one I was feeling trapped in! Beginning to think we had been forgotten, we waited for the queue at the reception desk to clear to enquire about our wait. Just as Paul approached the desk, E's name was called.
We moved into the consultant's office. My immediate reaction was to the large, noisy air conditioning unit in the corner of the room. It struck me as ironic that in an audiology department, my hearing was compromised not because of a health problem, but by the environment I was in. The conversation with the consultant was hindered by the noise, and a very unhappy B. We tried hard to give an accurate, chronological history, half expecting him to know at least some of E's history as provided by two consultants locally. Our hearts sank as it became apparent that E's glue ear was going to make any further assessments difficult and that what laid ahead of us was going to be more fighting for cohesive, well planned care. The consultant explained that there was to be no MRI scan and he wanted to carry out full APD (Auditory Processing Disorder) testing with E which would happen in his clinic at GOSH, but that this couldn't happen while E has glue ear, that we needed to liaise with local services to monitor her hearing. I wanted to scream that I have been trying to get our local teams to communicate with me for the last five years and it hadn't really proved successful. That's why I am sat in your clinic now, because no-one will listen. No-one will help. And now it felt like the one person who had been put on a pedestal, the go-to man who will sort everything out was making a total U-turn on the care he had previously planned and I really didn't get why. He left the room to photocopy some of the documents I had with me, and my eyes locked with Paul's seeking reassurance that I was misinterpreting this. Our shared aghast look needed no words. As the consultant returned, Paul asked him to confirm his plan. No MRI, but on the (lengthy) waiting list for APD assessment which can only happen if, by pure luck, E doesn't have glue ear at the time. Correct. We asked about grommets, would these help? Does she need them? It would make no difference as the current NICE Guidelines would prevent her from having this treatment. Can we see a Paediatrican to coordinate this care, to look at all aspects of her development and potential cardiac problems? Yes, but your GP will need to make a referral. There are no general Paeds at GOSH so this can't happen there. You need to liaise with local services, I will write to your Audiology department and see you again if or when E doesn't have glue ear.
We left the appointment exhausted and confused. The MRI, although daunting to have done with a general anaesthetic, had felt like an opportunity to seek physical cause and therefore answers. We know there is a problem in E's brain stem, but not really what or why. If our local hospital had referred her properly, it would be over and done with by now. Would we have put her through that unnecessarily? Had we made the wrong decision to come to GOSH? What lay ahead of us to try and clear glue ear with no intervention? After seeing Eloise's anxiety to a simple speech audiogram, did we really want to put her through the battery of tests needed to diagnose APD?
With heavy hearts, we left GOSH to fight the traffic, congestion and tutting commuters to find our way to the solace of home.
Sunday 7 September 2014
Chestnut Tree 10k Coastal Run, Littlehampton
When I first started Couch to 5k, I gave myself goals to achieve to ensure I kept running. I registered for the Race for Life 5k and also Chestnut Tree House 10k. The latter would also step up my mileage in preparation for the huge runs.
Last year I watched my closest friend, along with another good friend run the Chestnut Tree House 10k. I enjoyed supporting them, and had fun with my girls cheering and shaking pom-poms, making up silly cheerleader style songs to try and keep those runners going. I watched with pride as they crossed the finish line, but that was all. There was not a hint of envy or wanting to do it myself! I was quite happy being the support crew.
This year was slightly different. Actually, it is hugely different. If someone had told me after their run last year that not only would I be on the start line today, I would be keen and eager to go and hoping for a personal best, or that my PB would be under an hour, I would have just laughed. I wouldn't have believed that I could run 10k in a day, let alone an hour.
I was really nervous this morning, even though I knew I was well prepared, and that I had trained hard. My training at the moment is really for the Great South Run (10 miles / 16 km) but a 10k fits nicely in. We were up and ready early. Husband had to help me clip my race number onto the front of my vest because I was shaking so much! I was so pleased to have my closest friend nearby and a quick hug to say good luck, and to have my running buddy beside me at the start line.
One of the things I love most about L (apart from her filthy laugh and sense of humour!) is that she pushes me to be the best I can be. This morning was no exception. We started the run together, but when I needed to stretch my legs out and increase my pace to go for my PB she was nothing less than supportive and encouraging.
The course was a little harder than I had been expecting. Running on the road was fine, and I felt strong and comfortable with the pace I was running. My family and another good friend were waiting for me, so I had to manage a little sprint across the road to make sure I high-fived each of my cheering daughters. They really spurred me on and lifted my spirits; I was determined not to let negative thoughts get in my way, and looking out to sea at the yachts from the sailing club was a welcome distraction. I passed the point where we stood last year cheering, and had a little smile to myself. It felt good to be the runner and not the spectator.
I am not used to running on grass at all, and I found the park tricky to run in, but I was determined not to lose my pace. I tried hard to keep a good balance of a decent speed but not running past myself too early on. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the 4km distance marker, and thought 'Whoopie! That's nearly half way!', but didn't dare peek at the time on my watch in case I was way off target. I didn't enjoy running through the park much, and I could see other runners being wary of the loose dogs nearby. There were a couple of points where the course narrowed down or passed through small entrances, and I found myself getting boxed in by other runners, some slower, and it made keeping a rhythm to my pace difficult. The biggest challenge was the short run on the pebble beach. L and I have had really short attempts at running on pebbles and I hate it. Her advice worked though, and by keeping my knees high I got across it.
The water stations were plentiful and well manned, and I thought that the little ones who had volunteered were all little stars, doing their bit. However, the water was in cups rather than bottles which made it virtually impossible to drink while running, so I was glad I had my own bottle with me. The water was great for cooling off, and at each station I took a cup to pour down my back. My other brilliant idea of taking a travel size spray bottle with water in worked well, and I misted myself on several occasions which helped with the increasing warmth from the morning sun. I don't seem to sweat very much so having the water over me helped to keep cool.
The next distance marker I saw was 8km, which took me by surprise! I was a bit concerned that I hadn't seen another after 4km, and that just meant I was going very sloooooooow! I still felt strong, and knowing that the end was nearing, I wanted to pick up the pace a bit again. This point was running on a fairly narrow path, and passing other runners was difficult so I had to wait until we were back out on the road again. This loop of the course would've been better in the first half of the course, I thought.
Back on the road I managed to get into some space and speed up. I did allow myself to look at my watch at this point, but somehow misjudged the distance I had left so thought that my chances of a PB had slipped away. This didn't phase me though, and I kept the pace. It was hard work, the sun was getting hotter, and it went through my mind that I had increased the speed to too much, too soon and that I wouldn't be able to maintain it until the finish.
My family were perfectly placed, and as soon as I was doubting myself there they were, shouting and cheering me on. I quickly glanced at my watch - 54 minutes with the finish line just about in sight. I gave them a thumbs up, dug deep into my boots and sped up.
From this point on, it hurt. My lungs were burning, my heart was thudding, and I was aware of a couple of stray tears coming down my cheek. So much of me wanted to stop, but my legs were in a good rhythm and they carried me on - despite the finish line seeming to never come any closer!
The crowds at the finish were great, and were cheering us all on. I pushed, and pushed, and knew I could do no more and there it was. FINISH. I had done it!
My hand was already on my Garmin watch as I crossed the finish line, so I stopped it as soon as my foot went over. 57:04.8 was on the screen, soon follwed by 'Fastest 10k'. I knew when I passed the girls that I was on course for a PB but I had a mixture of emotions seeing the figures on screen. Relief, excitement, pride... and the inability to breathe normally!
I was given my race bling - the all important medal! I found a space on the green to calm down, catch my breath and stretch out my tired legs. Happiness flooded through me, a sense of achievement and pride in myself. My phone buzzed with a text message from Husband to say where he was. I soon found him and the girls, and excitedly threw myself at him with a squeal of '57!!!'. My good friend was waiting with him, and her husband who had also finished in a PB time of 50 minutes. A few photos later, and we were ready to find L and M who were due to finish. I managed a quick text to The Boss, and from his response of 'Wahey! Well done you!' I am guessing he is pleased, too.
Being typically British, we saw a queue and joined it, not quite sure what it was for! It turned out to be for the chip timing, so we waited to see what the official race timing had my finishing time as. My eldest daughter entered my race number and I was so disappointed to see my chip timing was slower than my watch had made me. It was only 40 seconds different, but that is the difference between a PB or not for me! Being a bit of a stats geek, I also had RunKeeper open on my phone which gave me a time of 57 minutes 30 seconds, so I decided to go with my own times. Well, they are better! I have also been using these times for other races, and today's times are better than those so still a PB. That's what I am sticking to, anyway!
Again I have to thank my lovely husband for his support today. He's allowed me an incredibly lazy afternoon, and knew just where I'd need him to be to get me through the run as well as I did. I adore him with every fibre of my body and soul, and I really don't care who knows!
Last year I watched my closest friend, along with another good friend run the Chestnut Tree House 10k. I enjoyed supporting them, and had fun with my girls cheering and shaking pom-poms, making up silly cheerleader style songs to try and keep those runners going. I watched with pride as they crossed the finish line, but that was all. There was not a hint of envy or wanting to do it myself! I was quite happy being the support crew.
This year was slightly different. Actually, it is hugely different. If someone had told me after their run last year that not only would I be on the start line today, I would be keen and eager to go and hoping for a personal best, or that my PB would be under an hour, I would have just laughed. I wouldn't have believed that I could run 10k in a day, let alone an hour.
I was really nervous this morning, even though I knew I was well prepared, and that I had trained hard. My training at the moment is really for the Great South Run (10 miles / 16 km) but a 10k fits nicely in. We were up and ready early. Husband had to help me clip my race number onto the front of my vest because I was shaking so much! I was so pleased to have my closest friend nearby and a quick hug to say good luck, and to have my running buddy beside me at the start line.
One of the things I love most about L (apart from her filthy laugh and sense of humour!) is that she pushes me to be the best I can be. This morning was no exception. We started the run together, but when I needed to stretch my legs out and increase my pace to go for my PB she was nothing less than supportive and encouraging.
The course was a little harder than I had been expecting. Running on the road was fine, and I felt strong and comfortable with the pace I was running. My family and another good friend were waiting for me, so I had to manage a little sprint across the road to make sure I high-fived each of my cheering daughters. They really spurred me on and lifted my spirits; I was determined not to let negative thoughts get in my way, and looking out to sea at the yachts from the sailing club was a welcome distraction. I passed the point where we stood last year cheering, and had a little smile to myself. It felt good to be the runner and not the spectator.
I am not used to running on grass at all, and I found the park tricky to run in, but I was determined not to lose my pace. I tried hard to keep a good balance of a decent speed but not running past myself too early on. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the 4km distance marker, and thought 'Whoopie! That's nearly half way!', but didn't dare peek at the time on my watch in case I was way off target. I didn't enjoy running through the park much, and I could see other runners being wary of the loose dogs nearby. There were a couple of points where the course narrowed down or passed through small entrances, and I found myself getting boxed in by other runners, some slower, and it made keeping a rhythm to my pace difficult. The biggest challenge was the short run on the pebble beach. L and I have had really short attempts at running on pebbles and I hate it. Her advice worked though, and by keeping my knees high I got across it.
The water stations were plentiful and well manned, and I thought that the little ones who had volunteered were all little stars, doing their bit. However, the water was in cups rather than bottles which made it virtually impossible to drink while running, so I was glad I had my own bottle with me. The water was great for cooling off, and at each station I took a cup to pour down my back. My other brilliant idea of taking a travel size spray bottle with water in worked well, and I misted myself on several occasions which helped with the increasing warmth from the morning sun. I don't seem to sweat very much so having the water over me helped to keep cool.
The next distance marker I saw was 8km, which took me by surprise! I was a bit concerned that I hadn't seen another after 4km, and that just meant I was going very sloooooooow! I still felt strong, and knowing that the end was nearing, I wanted to pick up the pace a bit again. This point was running on a fairly narrow path, and passing other runners was difficult so I had to wait until we were back out on the road again. This loop of the course would've been better in the first half of the course, I thought.
Back on the road I managed to get into some space and speed up. I did allow myself to look at my watch at this point, but somehow misjudged the distance I had left so thought that my chances of a PB had slipped away. This didn't phase me though, and I kept the pace. It was hard work, the sun was getting hotter, and it went through my mind that I had increased the speed to too much, too soon and that I wouldn't be able to maintain it until the finish.
My family were perfectly placed, and as soon as I was doubting myself there they were, shouting and cheering me on. I quickly glanced at my watch - 54 minutes with the finish line just about in sight. I gave them a thumbs up, dug deep into my boots and sped up.
From this point on, it hurt. My lungs were burning, my heart was thudding, and I was aware of a couple of stray tears coming down my cheek. So much of me wanted to stop, but my legs were in a good rhythm and they carried me on - despite the finish line seeming to never come any closer!
The crowds at the finish were great, and were cheering us all on. I pushed, and pushed, and knew I could do no more and there it was. FINISH. I had done it!
My hand was already on my Garmin watch as I crossed the finish line, so I stopped it as soon as my foot went over. 57:04.8 was on the screen, soon follwed by 'Fastest 10k'. I knew when I passed the girls that I was on course for a PB but I had a mixture of emotions seeing the figures on screen. Relief, excitement, pride... and the inability to breathe normally!
I was given my race bling - the all important medal! I found a space on the green to calm down, catch my breath and stretch out my tired legs. Happiness flooded through me, a sense of achievement and pride in myself. My phone buzzed with a text message from Husband to say where he was. I soon found him and the girls, and excitedly threw myself at him with a squeal of '57!!!'. My good friend was waiting with him, and her husband who had also finished in a PB time of 50 minutes. A few photos later, and we were ready to find L and M who were due to finish. I managed a quick text to The Boss, and from his response of 'Wahey! Well done you!' I am guessing he is pleased, too.
Being typically British, we saw a queue and joined it, not quite sure what it was for! It turned out to be for the chip timing, so we waited to see what the official race timing had my finishing time as. My eldest daughter entered my race number and I was so disappointed to see my chip timing was slower than my watch had made me. It was only 40 seconds different, but that is the difference between a PB or not for me! Being a bit of a stats geek, I also had RunKeeper open on my phone which gave me a time of 57 minutes 30 seconds, so I decided to go with my own times. Well, they are better! I have also been using these times for other races, and today's times are better than those so still a PB. That's what I am sticking to, anyway!
Again I have to thank my lovely husband for his support today. He's allowed me an incredibly lazy afternoon, and knew just where I'd need him to be to get me through the run as well as I did. I adore him with every fibre of my body and soul, and I really don't care who knows!
Saturday 6 September 2014
The kindness of strangers
It is the day before my 10k event, a charity fun run fundraising for the only Children's Hospice in West Sussex. Despite it being a FUN run, typically for me I have piled the pressure on myself to run my best, and to go for a PB. In chip timing this means coming in under 1hr 11minutes, but having run from Lancing - Worthing in 58minutes, I really want to beat this time. The high expectations I have placed upon myself has unsurprisingly made me feel quite nervous all day. I have also been feeling reflective, and I have been thinking of the last six months and the highlights so far.
The Boss manages a local running shop, which is both popular and highly regarded by the local running community, so is usually quite busy. While there during the summer holidays, I had the privilege of chatting to a lovely lady who had run Brighton Marathon last year. She had run in celebration of beating Cancer, and was supported by the gentleman who was also in the shop with her. I was in awe of her strength and determination, and took on board her words of advice about getting around the marathon course. The conversation naturally led to my motivation, and my plan to run 100 miles for GOSH. The next thing she did totally backfooted me. This amazing lady, who had not only come through Cancer and all of the ruthless treatments that it entails, who had run a marathon in a very respectable time, was giving me money for my fundraising, and telling me that she was in awe of me. How could she be with her own incredible success story?! I didn't know how to accept, or how I could ever thank her enough, but she was insistent. If that lovely lady ever reads this - thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the first to sponsor me. You are truly inspirational, and I hope your good health continues for a very long time.
I rely heavily on social networking to have regular contact with friends, and family who are 3 hours away. I have used an online group for support once before, but I've never been one to make online friends. I generally prefer those who I can see for coffee and cakes! Through Facebook (love it or hate it, it does have its uses!) I have become part of a group called Run Mummy Run. I watched with caution for a while, but the group has turned out to be excellent. The ladies on there are supportive and understanding. Women post with real issues that affect their daily lives, and their running. From injuries to sensitive bladders, anything goes. Coming from a Nursing background where I am used to discussing pretty much anything and everything, I have found it really refreshing to see people talking openly about their bodies. It creates a safe environment for questions to be asked and discussion to be had. Many women in the group are running for charities close to their hearts, writing blogs, and training hard for their planned events. Some are running for weight loss purposes, to improve fitness, or just because they can. I am yet to see anything but positive support and care on this group - quite remarkable for a group with over 5,200 members. The kindness of strangers shines in this collection of runners, and I am grateful to the ladies who have sponsored me.
I am aware that I have spoken about my coach in previous posts, but he slots nicely into this blog as only a few months ago he was also a stranger. I was talking to my husband earlier today about how overwhelming my emotions have been in the last 6 months. I've never taken compliments easily, and I've often had a bit of a pessimistic 'Why me?' reaction to people who I don't know well being nice to me. I guess I have to work on my self worth! Accepting The Boss' time has been a difficult process for me, and I have had to work on not feeling guilty for bothering him with my novice questions and worries. As I say, my emotions have been running high, which makes the more negative feelings like guilt difficult to manage. He works with real athletes - I am overly aware of my status as a novice and that I am never going to be a champion runner like some of the people he coaches. I have to be reminded by my lovely husband that not being as good as a real athlete does not make me less important. I can only aspire to improve my mental fitness as my physical fitness develops. The time The Boss has invested into improving my training plans, developing my strength and fitness is also an investment into the charity to make sure I stay fit for the next year to complete the challenge. I don't know if he will read this blog or not, but if he does then I hope he sees how important he has become to me, and how much I appreciate all he has done so far.
Once the 100 Mile Running Challenge is over, I would love to present the money to GOSH in person. This way I can make sure the kindness of my strangers is shown to them in the true glory they deserve.
Friday 5 September 2014
A bad week, running without expectations, and my lucky pants.
I've mentioned before about the problems I had with my pelvis following my pregnancy with E. Chronic pain is vile. The pain I had was vile. The situation was vile. Having my husband help me dress each day was soul destroying. Him getting into a bit of bother at work because he had to take time off to look after me was a low, low point. So, when I get a hint of the pain coming back it scares me.
My lower back and hip has been feeling a bit stiff for a couple of weeks. Then my right arm started going a bit numb so off I went to the osteopath. I had forgotten that I can be a bit sore after a good cracking session; by the time I got to the osteopath appointment my hip was nudging towards being painful and once he'd released off what he could (the surrounding muscles were very tight making manipulation tricky) I was left feeling a bit battered. A day of shopping with my gorgeous friend took my mind off it, but the twinges going up my spine while I was standing still were a cruel reminder that it was still there.
Thinking I could do with stretching my legs, I headed out on my usual 5k route the following morning. I know this route well now. I know where I can hold back a bit and where I can easily pick up the pace to make up for it. Despite running at a decent pace it felt tough. It was like running through treacle and the pain was bothering me. My right leg felt heavy and as if I was carrying it. I also discovered that it isn't easy to run and cry at the same time... I got home, sat down on the decking in the back garden and sobbed.
I spent the rest of the day with family, and tried to ignore both the niggling feeling of doubt and the pain which accompanied it like a misplaced triangle in an orchestra. The Boss messaged me later that evening asking how I was. I had been to see him after going to the osteopath, and he seemed to get a good sense of how worried I was. He'd shown me some extra hamstring and piriformis stretches to add in to my usual routine, and told me many times that I would be OK. I wish I shared his optimism at times like this! It feels like his hopes for me to run a 10k in 57 minutes or under are a serious misjudgement and the only way I am heading is towards failure.
I've spent the following few days in a maudlin mood. The fear of the pain compounded by the start of a new school term and the worries this brings for E, meant that I've been a bit tearful and probably a pain in the arse to live with, as well as having my own pain in the arse! The Boss has once again been incredibly supportive, and I have a mixed sense of guilt at bothering him so much, but also a deep sense of gratitude for his expert guidance. My husband has given me a balance of love and 'pull yourself together'. All of these people make me a lucky girl.
The week has been spent 'resting' my leg. In my world, that just means I haven't been out for a run. The return of school has given me a chance to walk 4 miles each day, plus the usual housework and chasing around a very cheeky 2 year old! Emotionally I have battered myself, and left myself feeling exhausted. With this exhaustion comes doubt, and with these two together I only feel like hiding away from the world.
This evening I had to get out. Come what may I had to run. I like to be organised and prepared, and with the next 10k race just 2 days away, I had to run to see how I will approach the race. Running kit on, and leaving the husband in charge of the girls and cooking the dinner (a risky combination!) I headed out. No expectations, just to stretch my legs. I promised myself that if I was working too hard to sing along to my music, then I was going too fast and that I would hang back. This worked well for first mile. In the second mile, my GP was driving out of the surgery and paused to allow me to cross. With a wave of thank you, my pace picked up a bit. Seeing him indicating to turn the way I was running prevented me from slowing down. Working a bit harder now, but not pushing myself. The third mile was alongside the park. Ah, there goes my plan out of the window and now I'm really testing the legs out and off I launch into a 8.30 minute mile. Ooops.
This is where I have fibbed to you, dear readers, but only a little. I do not have lucky pants. But, BUT, I do have a lucky running vest. It just didn't sound as entertaining in the title...
My Great Ormond Street vest spurs me on. It is a lovely purple, and it reminds me of every reason why I am doing this challenge. My week has been tough. I've had a niggling pain, which - touch wood - seems to be OK. My vest reminds me that I am in a privileged position to be able to get out and run. Many of the children in Great Ormond Street would love to get outside and play. To run with their friends, to chase them and play football. Or to fly down a zip wire in the play park. They don't have the choices I do, and I really hope that some of the money that I raise will go towards simple FUN.
https://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Slaughter/
My lower back and hip has been feeling a bit stiff for a couple of weeks. Then my right arm started going a bit numb so off I went to the osteopath. I had forgotten that I can be a bit sore after a good cracking session; by the time I got to the osteopath appointment my hip was nudging towards being painful and once he'd released off what he could (the surrounding muscles were very tight making manipulation tricky) I was left feeling a bit battered. A day of shopping with my gorgeous friend took my mind off it, but the twinges going up my spine while I was standing still were a cruel reminder that it was still there.
Thinking I could do with stretching my legs, I headed out on my usual 5k route the following morning. I know this route well now. I know where I can hold back a bit and where I can easily pick up the pace to make up for it. Despite running at a decent pace it felt tough. It was like running through treacle and the pain was bothering me. My right leg felt heavy and as if I was carrying it. I also discovered that it isn't easy to run and cry at the same time... I got home, sat down on the decking in the back garden and sobbed.
I spent the rest of the day with family, and tried to ignore both the niggling feeling of doubt and the pain which accompanied it like a misplaced triangle in an orchestra. The Boss messaged me later that evening asking how I was. I had been to see him after going to the osteopath, and he seemed to get a good sense of how worried I was. He'd shown me some extra hamstring and piriformis stretches to add in to my usual routine, and told me many times that I would be OK. I wish I shared his optimism at times like this! It feels like his hopes for me to run a 10k in 57 minutes or under are a serious misjudgement and the only way I am heading is towards failure.
I've spent the following few days in a maudlin mood. The fear of the pain compounded by the start of a new school term and the worries this brings for E, meant that I've been a bit tearful and probably a pain in the arse to live with, as well as having my own pain in the arse! The Boss has once again been incredibly supportive, and I have a mixed sense of guilt at bothering him so much, but also a deep sense of gratitude for his expert guidance. My husband has given me a balance of love and 'pull yourself together'. All of these people make me a lucky girl.
The week has been spent 'resting' my leg. In my world, that just means I haven't been out for a run. The return of school has given me a chance to walk 4 miles each day, plus the usual housework and chasing around a very cheeky 2 year old! Emotionally I have battered myself, and left myself feeling exhausted. With this exhaustion comes doubt, and with these two together I only feel like hiding away from the world.
This evening I had to get out. Come what may I had to run. I like to be organised and prepared, and with the next 10k race just 2 days away, I had to run to see how I will approach the race. Running kit on, and leaving the husband in charge of the girls and cooking the dinner (a risky combination!) I headed out. No expectations, just to stretch my legs. I promised myself that if I was working too hard to sing along to my music, then I was going too fast and that I would hang back. This worked well for first mile. In the second mile, my GP was driving out of the surgery and paused to allow me to cross. With a wave of thank you, my pace picked up a bit. Seeing him indicating to turn the way I was running prevented me from slowing down. Working a bit harder now, but not pushing myself. The third mile was alongside the park. Ah, there goes my plan out of the window and now I'm really testing the legs out and off I launch into a 8.30 minute mile. Ooops.
This is where I have fibbed to you, dear readers, but only a little. I do not have lucky pants. But, BUT, I do have a lucky running vest. It just didn't sound as entertaining in the title...
My Great Ormond Street vest spurs me on. It is a lovely purple, and it reminds me of every reason why I am doing this challenge. My week has been tough. I've had a niggling pain, which - touch wood - seems to be OK. My vest reminds me that I am in a privileged position to be able to get out and run. Many of the children in Great Ormond Street would love to get outside and play. To run with their friends, to chase them and play football. Or to fly down a zip wire in the play park. They don't have the choices I do, and I really hope that some of the money that I raise will go towards simple FUN.
https://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Slaughter/
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